It’s twenty minutes till showtime. The models are having the finishing touches put on their makeup, having perfected the art of holding long conversations without moving a single facial muscle, while their makeup artist touches up their lippy. The look of the season is fierce white eyeliner offset by a nude face and a sleek ponytail with heaps of volume on the top – and they sport it like a badge of honour.
The air smells like hairspray, but the atmosphere is punctuated with the sound of giggles, gossip of last night’s exploits and the sound of someone yelling over the mayhem for them to change, stand in their respective position in the line-up or put on shoes from the large box near the stage, guarded by an intern who takes her first job in fashion way too seriously.
Soon, the lights go off, the upbeat house music comes on and before you can say ‘break a leg’, those mile-long legs are already gliding effortlessly down the runway, stopping only for a quick wink at the cameras, before sashaying backstage for their next change.
In the third row, sat behind all your favourite magazine fashion editors and most leading newspapers whose reporters never show up, sit the bloggers, juggling between their larger-than-life DSLR cameras and their smartphones, to bring you live coverage, and pictures you can reflect on later (like these). In fact, of you look around, everyone is really watching the shows through their phones, ready to Instagram, Tweet or blog at a moment’s notice.
My fifth season at fashion week as a blogger, I do have a few seasoned favourites, Surendri by Yogesh Chaudhary being one. Attending his show is always a delight, and this season didn’t disappoint with it’s glittery sunflower prints splattered across deliciously hot hues. Quirkbox was entertaining as always with their Bombay theme – bright colours, patchwork and print dancing merrily down the runway to city tunes from decades past. Ikai by Ragini Ahuja satisfied all my sportswear fantasies with bomber jackets, leather skirts and chunky creepers. But my favourite of the season by far was Papa Don’t Preach by Shubhika Davda – shimmery, fiercely futuristic and unapologetically girly, I could never get tired of her sequinned skirts, clear briefcases and fishbowl (you heard me!) shoes!
After the designers take their bows and the lights come back on, it’s suddenly all over, and everyone makes a mad dash for the smoking area (or The Source, if that’s more your thing), eager to kill time between the next show in a couple of hours. Or probably more, if we’re being realistic about Indian Standard Time. Here, the show spectators become the stars as they strike a pose for one street style photographer after the other, before moving on to network with whichever editor happens to be around, or the designers as soon as they manage to give the post-show press the slip.
Soon it’s time for the next show and we all get ready to lather, rinse, repeat this process for the next four days. And I don’t know about everyone else, but even though I may be physically tired (my feet are suicidal thanks to my brand new cutout wedge booties), I will never, ever lose my excitement for my favourite time of the year, fashion week.
To read more of my articles on Fashion Week, check these out: